


Five Times Cassandra Didn’t Say What She Was Thinking (and The One Time She Did)

by windofderange



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-02
Updated: 2017-01-02
Packaged: 2018-09-14 06:11:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9165553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/windofderange/pseuds/windofderange
Summary: Forever after I posted the first one, here's the same story from Cassandra's perspective.  Some of it references the Varric story, but reading it is probably not necessary.





	1. Because she wasn’t some starry-eyed fan

“Did you say ‘Varric Tethras,' sir?”

Her voice wasn’t cracking.  It was shaky because she had stopped in the midst of training to run across the compound in response to the Lord Seeker’s urgent request for her presence.  Her heart was pounding from the combination of shield training and the three flights of stairs up to the Seeker’s private rooms.

“You know him?” Lord Seeker Aldren replied.

“If you mean the writer, I know of him, sir.  I’ve read his work.”

_ It makes sense _ , Cassandra thought to herself.   _ There were rumors that the Seekers were being called in to investigate what happened at Kirkwall.  Tethras has been writing about the exploits of the Champion of Kirkwall for years.   _

_ But why now?  The Templars responsible for abusing lyrium and inciting the mage rebellion were identified almost immediately.  Now, half the Circles were falling - surely the Seekers were needed elsewhere. _

“He’s being held in Kirkwall.  I’m sending you to question him.”

“Sir, do you believe there are more Templars responsible for the destruction of Kirkwall who have not been brought to justice?” Cassandra asked.

“This isn’t about the Kirkwall Templars,” the Lord Seeker replied, “It’s about the so-called Champion of Kirkwall.’”

“What about her?”

Lord Seeker Aldren’s eyebrows arched.  “So you’ve read Tethras’ work on the subject?”

Cassandra cursed herself.  Anyone unfamiliar with the situation would have guessed the Champion of Kirkwall was a “he.”  It was a sloppy reveal.  She could hear the words of her mentor in her head, “never give away more than necessary, Cassandra.  We seek truth; we do not exchange it.”

“Yes, sir,” she said, “I’ve read it.”

“Good, it will save you needing to get caught up.  As you know, then, this Hawke character disappeared after the Circle fell.  We want to find her.”

“May I ask why, sir?”

Something passed over Aldren’s somber expression, a sallowness that bordered on terror.  It was only a glimmer, but it left a cold hand crawling up Cassandra’s spine.  In response to her question, he said only, “We believe she could aid in ending the mage rebellion.  She is, after all, a mage herself, yet she fought alongside the uncorrupted Templars in Kirkwall.  Your task to to find out why, and find out if this Tethras knows where she is now.”

“Of course, sir,” Cassandra said, saluting.  Her mind was ringing with questions, but she pushed them aside as she packed her gear and joined her lieutenants, setting off for Kirkwall.

She took the trip to reread  _ The Champion of Kirkwall _ .  She had wanted to mine it for information, perhaps identify some possible lines of questioning, or pressure points that might throw the writer off his guard, but she couldn’t stop herself from getting caught up in the story, the rich detail of the scenes, the way she could almost smell the docks or feel her hair stand on end from the ambient magical energy spinning through the elven alienage.  

 

It seemed almost no time had passed before they arrived at Kirkwall.  The city guard had made an old training facility available to them - Cassandra set up an interrogation room and sent her staff to search the city for Tethras.  A member of the city guard suggested they start with, in his words, every bar on the docks.  Sure enough, by the evening, her lieutenants sent word that they had found him at a dockside bar and were bringing him in.  Cassandra left him to sweat in the interrogation room, telling herself it was an interrogation tactic.  Nevermind that her heart raced every time she thought about speaking to him.

Finally, the world around them sinking into the darkness of night, she strolled into the room, “Varric Tethras?”

A dwarf was sitting at the interrogation table. Cassandra had been vaguely aware that Tethras was a dwarf, and she couldn’t claim to have met many of them, but at least all of the dwarves who had attended her uncle’s galas had all been serious, stoic creatures, always smelling of coal, and coated in as many gilded clothes and jeweled crowns as their short, thick frames could bear.  The figure that sat, leaning back in his chair, his thick feet on the table, was nothing like that.  He leaned back on his thick, muscular arms, a crossbow resting against his chair.  He wore no gold or jewels - in fact, he was barely dressed, his bare chest revealing a tuft of golden hair to match the long, golden tail that hung down his back.  Despite the hours she’d left him there, he still stunk of Antivan rum, but his eyes were bright, black and clear, and set on her the instant the door opened.

As she spoke his name, he smirked.

“Why the hell am I here?”

The response shook her.  His voice was exactly what she’d always heard in her head when she read his work - sharply sarcastic, yet with a warmth and depth that spoke to some hidden pain.

_ You’re here to do your job _ , she reminded herself.   _ This is your duty.  You’re not some starry-eyed girl at your uncle’s gala _ .

“As I believe you have been informed, you are under investigation from the Chantry with regard to your association with the Champion of Kirkwall and your role in the events leading up to the Circle rebellion in Kirkwall.”

She forced the words out in a cold, even pace, staring down at the notes in her hands, yet she could feel Varric’s eyes still locked on her.  

“I am Lady Seeker Pentaghast.  I have been sent by order of the Lord Seeker and the most holy Divine herself to look into these matters.”

“Is that so?” Varric cooed, his words dripping with insincere deference.

“Start talking, dwarf.  They tell me you’re good at it.”

Cassandra hadn’t expected the interrogation to turn this antagonistic this quickly.  Varric seemed determined to be as uncooperative as possible. Even as she questioned him, his stories were wracked with inconsistencies and contradictions.  

 

Varric was still smirking, even after days of questioning.  “What’s wrong?  Does that not match the stories you’ve heard, Seeker?”

Cassandra thought, for the tenth time that day, how much she’d like to slap the smirk off his face. “I’m not interested in stories.  I came to hear the truth.”

“And what makes you think I know the truth?”

His words seemed to burn inside of her, scorching away all of her training for patience.  She felt herself bound to her feet, screaming, “Don’t lie to me!  You knew her before she ever became the Champion!”

Varric was still smirking.


	2. Because a stranger fell from the sky.

“I expected you’d be up at that big to-do at the temple,” Varric said, still smirking. It had been months, and he was still smirking.  Officially, he’d be ‘invited’ to join them at their camp in Haven, but in reality, he had stubbornly refused to give them any information regarding the Champion of Kirkwall and Cassandra had refused to give up questioning him and had instead begged the Lord Seeker to let her bring him with her when the Divine Justinia announced the conclave.

“The divine conclave is between the Chantry and the mages,” Cassandra replied, attempting to maintain a calm demeanor.  “The Seekers are not needed there.  I am needed here, however.  You must see now why we need the Champion.”

“You don’t think the Divine can do the job herself?”

“That’s not what I meant,” Cassandra shot back.  She paused, taking a deep breath, before continuing.  “The Divine may yet convince the mages to end their rebellion, but the mages will still need a voice they can trust in rebuilding the Circles.  Hawke is a mage - they’ll listen to her.”

“Hawke’s done more than her share for Thedas,” Varric replied. “Besides, as I’ve told you three thousand times before, I don’t know where she is.”

“Yes, so you’ve said.  And yet…”

Her words were cut off by the huge crack of electricity and the boom of cracking stone.  They both rushed out into the cold day, a cold wind wrapping around them, instantly chilling them down to their bones.  The crack had apparently come from the huge, green rift that was cutting through the sky, energy spilling out of it. On the far hill, the temple was quaking.   “Lady Seeker?” one of the templars called from the city wall.

“Get everyone out of there!  Now!  Get the villagers under cover!”

Before the Templars could even gather into the city, the energy had completely encircled the temple.  They watched in horror as the walls were flung apart, mages and templars alike screaming for aid.  Within the ruins of the temple, a few mages managed to shoot off spells at the rift, but they dissipated as soon as they touched the energy field. Within moments, the entire temple was gone, leaving nothing but a smolder wreckage of stone walls and crushed bodies.

“What do we?...” Knight-Commander Cullen called from the road, but his attention turned back to the rift.  There was the crackle of electricity and another great boom, and a single figure fell from the rift, landing in a nearby drift of snow.

Cassandra drew her sword and approached the figure in the snow, vaguely aware of Varric beside her.  Before she could reach it, though, a single elf appeared on the road, shouting, “Don’t hurt them!”

“Who are you?” Cassandra demanded.

“My name is Solas.  I am a student of the ancient world - I came to Haven because I feared a great evil was preparing to attack the conclave.”

“You’re not one of the rebel mages, then?”

“I have no interest in the Circle or their infighting.  There are much greater things at stake here.  And that woman may be the key.”

The figure in the snow was indeed a woman.  The same, flickering green electricity emanated from her hand.

“Get her inside, and keep her under guard,” Cassandra ordered the nearest templars.  “And prepare a team to head to the temple to search for survivors.”

“I will accompany you.  I believe my magic can be of assistance,” Solas announced.  It didn’t sound as though he was asking permission, and Cassandra couldn’t deny that it seemed promising that he stared at the glowing rift in the sky with something other than pure terror.

“I’m coming with you, too,” Varric said, his crossbow in hand.

“No, return to the camp,” Cassandra ordered.

“Seeker, if you really think I’m going to sit around and wait while the sky is coming to pieces, you’re even crazier than I thought.”

He was still smirking.  But for the first time in months, the look on Varric’s face set Cassandra at ease.  “Very well.”


	3. Because someone was going to be named the next Divine

Cassandra sat among the herbalist’s garden, allowing her sore muscles to sink against the cool stone bench, allowing her weight to fall off her feet and her back for what felt like the first time in months.  It was barely after sunrise, and Skyhold was still mostly silent.  In the distance, she could hear the horns announcing that the hunters had returned from their night-time raid, and the muffled voices of the traders and craftsmen as they set up their stalls in the shadow of the great staircase.  Yet the high, stone walls of the garden kept out all but the softest whisper of their voices.  Mixing with the gentle aroma of the lotus and prophet’s laurel, the distant noises gave the place a dreamlike quality.

Cassandra had never really seen the point of gardens, or in the meditations you were supposed to undertake in them.  To her, prayer was in the Chant, and she had always felt the most at peace in the Chant when it was sung together - by the Seekers and Templars before a battle, by the Divine on the great feasts, or by a pack of so-called heretics, huddled together on the side of a snow-covered mountain, mourning their losses and praying for Andraste to guide their Herald back to them.  Despite everything that had happened, including being declared a heretic, Cassandra still sang that day’s Chant every night before she went to sleep, even in a near-silent voice as she camped alongside the Herald and the others.

The Herald.  Never in a thousand years would Cassandra have believed that she would be leading the next Inquisition.  Such great deeds were meant for great heroes, not family-less girls running away from a life of privilege and boredom.   _ And yet, the Maker has a plan for each of us _ , the Divine Justinia had said, when she voiced similar sentiments over being named the Right Hand of the Divine.   _ It is not for us to question the Maker; it is for us to do our best to serve that plan _ .  Sadness sunk through her, thinking of Justinia.  With everything that had happened, she still had not really had time to mourn her.   _ And now, people are saying I should be the next Divine _ , she thought, the very idea causing her to shudder.

“Morning, Seeker!” Varric’s voice pierced through the dreamlike morning like one of his arrows, sprung from Bianca.  Cassandra jumped slightly, spinning in her seat and setting her weight into her heels, suddenly ready for a fight.

“Whoa, sorry to startle you,” he said, raising one hand flat beside his head. The other still gripped a steaming mug.  “I mean you no harm.”

Cassandra sighed, allowing her body to relax. “That remains to be seen.”

“No harm,” Varric reiterated, “Maybe a bit of discomfort.  But that’s what we writers do.  Comfort the discomforted, and discomfort the comfortable.”

“Comfortable?  Is that what I am?”

Varric glanced back at her with a grin.  “I admit, you don’t look so comfortable right now.  What brings you out so early anyhow?”

Cassandra shrugged.  “I awoke early.  I wanted to wait for sunrise to start training, lest I bother those sleeping above the training square.

“Makes sense.  And the garden is lovely in the morning.”

“Is that why you’re here?  Inspiration?”

Varric grinned wider, apparently entertained that Cassandra might have theories about his sources of inspiration.  “Well, that and the fresh elfroot.  I love this stuff in my tea.  Gives it a nice kick.”

As if a demonstration, he picked a few small leaves from a nearby bush, crushing them to the bottom of the mug with the back of the spoon and taking a sip.

“Those herbs are for the herbalist, to prepare potions for us.  Healing potions, in the case of elfroot,” Cassandra chided.

“Those few leaves will grow back before the day is done,” Varric replied.  Without so much as a glance at Cassandra for approval, he came and sat beside her, stirring his tea.  “Don’t stress the small stuff, Seeker.”

She couldn’t help but smile.  “I suppose there’s no shortage of ‘big stuff’ to stress instead.”

“Yep, rifts in the sky, an evil archmage on the loose, and now this rumor going around that you’re going to be the next Divine.”

“Where did you hear that?”

“The Iron Bull.  Who heard it from Sera, who was apparently eavesdropping on one of Leliana’s Ravens.  Literally, from the way Bull told it, from her weird little bazaar up in the bar.  Apparently it’s down to you or Leliana?”

“Hardly,” Cassandra replied, “Anyone who has completed Chantry training can be the Divine. There are many qualified candidates.”

“But you and Leliana, you were her right and left hands, right?  That must put you high on the list.”

“Perhaps, although we are also both now heretics, as well.”

“Pssh, we all know that’s going to blow over.  The Chantry’s a mess - we close that rift in the sky, and half of Thedas is going to be falling over themselves to say they believed in us all along.”

“I suppose.”

“So do you want it?”

“To close the rift?!” Cassandra balked, “Of course!”   


Varric laughed, the sound broad and round, like the shaking of a great drum.  “Yeah, I sort of figured that.  I meant, do you want to be the next Divine?”

“It is a great honor,” she replied, the words falling out of her, almost automatically.

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

Cassandra sighed, the sadness welling up in her again.  “Honestly?  I cannot imagine _being_  the Divine.  Justinia, she was… Well, she was divine.  She embodied everything the Chant represents - always trusting, always loving, always peaceful.  Even with the mages rebelling, she had nothing but love for them.  I’m not sure I could do the same.”

“You trusted a woman who fell out of the sky with her hand on fire,” Varric added.  “You’ve help welcome refugees and outlaws to serve the Inquisition.  And you helped organize the conclave to end the rebellion, and then organized the rescue of Haven when that failed.  That all sounds to me like stuff Andraste would approve of.”

Cassandra stared at him, her heart pounding.   _ Does he really mean all of that?, _ she thought to herself,  _ Does he really think so much of what I’ve done? _

Aloud, she asked, “Do you believe in Andraste, Varric?”

His face reddened, “Yeah, I know, it’s not supposed to work that way.  The Maker doesn’t believe in dwarves and we don’t believe in the Maker.  Thing is, I was raised on the surface.  My mother worked in the Chantry as a mason, and she used to bring me to services.  And besides, I’m a writer.  I like a good story, that tells a good message, and the story of Andraste is a great one.”

“For what it’s worth, I’ve always thought it strange that the Chantry bans other races.  We deny fellowship with elves because they have too much magic, and with dwarves because they have too little.  But, who are we to say what the Maker has planned for them?”

“So what about it?  Do you want to be Divine?”

Cassandra sighed.  “I’m not sure.  But it is a great honor, and a great calling.  If appointed, I don’t think I could turn it down.”

Varric nodded, but his expression had turned somber.  

“So you don’t think I’m qualified, after all?” Cassandra asked.

“Oh, no, it’s not that.  It’s obvious to everyone but you that you’d be a great Divine.  It’s just … I’m not big on people doing a duty because they feel like they have to.  I know - divine plan and all that - but I honestly think the Maker, if there is a Maker, wants people to live their best life, which includes the life that makes them happy.  Being Divine would mean you’d have to leave the Inquisition, you’d have to stop training soldiers, you’d have to stop serving in the field, you could never fall in love or get married or have a family…”

“And you think I want all of those things?”

“Of course,” Varric said, getting to his feet.  “I know you a lot better than you think I do, Seeker. You weren’t the only one learning stuff from our weeks of interrogation.”

“Is that so?” Cassandra called as he strode across the garden.

“Am I wrong?” he called back.

The garden sunk back into its dreamlike silence as Varric pulled wide the door to the kitchens.


	4. Because there’s a real Bianca, and she’s still alive and well.

"So your crossbow is named Bianca, after the woman who designed it?"

A searing pain burned through Cassandra’s leg as she tried to distract herself, watching Sera attempt to launch an arrow as she dove through the Iron Bull’s horns.  It was a ridiculous and strategically useless trick, but at least their attempts had been entertaining enough to distract her from the  _ thud, thud, thud _ as blood poured out of her leg.  Now, as the Inquisitor worked a healing spell, it was as though she could feel each tendon and ligament re-stitching itself.  But the Bull’s question somehow stung more.

“Yes, Bianca made Bianca,” Varric replied, apparently entranced by the maintenance he was performing on the namesake as they spoke.

"That is so hot," Bull murmured, and Cassandra felt another sharp jolt rise up her spine.  From her leg, she told herself.

"I'll pass along your approval," Varric replied.

"So are you two still ... together?" the Inquisitor asked, her attention still focused on Cassandra’s wound.

Cassandra took a sharp breath.  Again, from the pain, she told herself.

“Sort of depends on your definition of ‘together,’” he replied flatly.  “Officially, we can’t be within three hundred miles of one another.  Violating that tends to result in assassins, explosions, and me losing a few pints of blood.”

“And unofficially?” the Inquisitor asked.

“We still manage to see each other occasionally, as this outing demonstrates.  Mostly we write letters.”

“I thought I heard her mention a husband,” Cassandra grumbled, the words falling out of her before she could even really process what she was saying.

Varric glared at her, his expression flooding her with self-loathing.   _ What business was it of hers, after all? _

“Yes, she does have one of those,” Varric replied sharply,  “Nice guy, her family approves of him, yadda, yadda, yadda.”

“Does that not … complicate your being together?” Cassandra asked, fighting to mask the interest in her voice.

“You’ve heard the phrase, ‘beggars can’t be choosers,’ Seeker?” he snapped back.

_ And who I am to judge, after all? _ , she thought to herself.   _ Of all of the topics for which I can claim no authority whatsoever, affairs of the heart fall only slightly below social graces _ .

She could feel her face reddening.  As calmly as she could, she pushed herself up onto her feet, trying to mask the embarrassment as exertion.  

“How does it feel?” the Inquisitor asked, watching her intently.

“Better,” Cassandra replied, “Thank you.  You were correct; I should not have traveled back on it.”

“That’s what I’m here for,” the Inquisitor said gently.  “Well, that, and closing rifts, and general inquisiting.”

Sera broke with laughter, motioning to Bull to give her another boost.  “Knew it was something important like that.”

Cassandra sighed.  Part of her wanted to stay and watch their antics, but glancing to her side, she found Varric still glaring at her. Finally, she said, “I’ll take watch.  I should like to stretch my legs.”

“I’ll come with you,” the Inquisitor said.

She allowed Cassandra to lean on her shoulder as they started up the hill towards the lake.  The voices of their companions were quickly drowned out by the babbling of the creek and the crash of the waterfalls in the distance.  They stopped at the edge of the lake, resting on the bridge, staring at the small cabin where they had first met Warden Blackwall.

“Nothing’s ever simple, is it?” the Inquisitor said, apparently to no one in particular.

“Pardon?”

“Maybe it’s this place,” she continued.  “This is where we first met Blackwall … Rainier … and now everything with Bianca and the Red Templars.  It seems like every time we start to think we understand what’s going on, it all gets thrown on its head again.”

“Indeed,” Cassandra said, feeling as though a great weight was crushing her in place.  “However bad it is for us, though, I cannot imagine how Varric must feel.  To be betrayed so, and yet he seems so … detached.”

“That’s just Varric.  Never let ‘em see you sweat,” the Inquisitor replied.  “He’s hurting inside.”

“Always so impossible,” Cassandra groaned, “Just like in Kirkwall.  Why must he be so stubborn?  What good does it do anyone to be so unbending?”

“Is Cassandra Pentaghast really asking me why someone would be stubborn?” 

Cassandra shot her a dark look, which only darkened as the Inquisitor began to laugh.

“I don’t mean that as a bad thing, Cassandra,” she continued, “It’s just … you know you do the same thing, right?  Just push and push and push, no matter what.  I mean, if one of us was in danger, no matter what we’d done to put ourselves there, is there anything you wouldn’t do to keep us safe?”

“I suppose not,” Cassandra replied, turning the words over in her mind. “But Varric, he never says what he means, never breaks that silly, smirking facade.  He’s so stubborn - it’s as though he delights in never letting anyone know what he’s thinking.”

“Maybe you’re looking at this the wrong way,” the Inquisition said, stepping forward, so they were shoulder to shoulder, both staring out across the lake.

“In what way?”

“Maybe the question isn’t why is Varric so hard to read.  Maybe the question is why do you want to know what he’s thinking?”

Cassandra balked, feeling her face flush again.  “I just … I interrogated him!  You have no idea what it was like, stuck with that smirking face for months!  It’s just frustrating that after everything we’ve been through, he still does not trust me … trust us enough to be honest.”

The Inquisitor watched her outburst with only the softest, gentlest of smiles.  “That makes sense,” she said finally.  “For what it’s worth, I do think Varric trusts you.  And I think he thinks very highly of you.  He just has a different way of showing it.”

“He doesn’t not seem to lack ways to show his affection for Bianca,” Cassandra replied, instantly regretting that the words had escaped her lips.

“Well, you could always get him another crossbow.  Maybe he’d name that one after you.”

Cassandra just sighed again, her face sinking down.  “You won’t tell him, will you? What I said?”

“I wouldn’t think of it,” the Inquisitor replied.


	5. Because she would see the Inquisition out to its end, whatever that was

Cassandra couldn’t really explain what had compelled her to get out on the roof of Herald’s Rest.  She had wanted a drink; not exactly to calm her nerves - alcohol had never really had that effect on her -, but to numb them.  She had found the place overrun with Inquisition soldiers - hardly surprising, since Cullen’s forces had returned a few days earlier.  Yet there was something about their faces, their expressions of eager anticipation, masking a nearly-incomprehensible dread.  It was a feeling Cassandra knew all too well.  To see it on the faces of the men and women she had trained, to know that their numbers were already lessened, and that there were still more faces that she might not see again, it was more than she could bear.  The thatched roof and mountain air had been a sudden relief, like stepping into a chilly lake after a long run.

She certainly had not expected to be sharing a drink alone with Varric, and yet she couldn’t deny the tremendous sense of relief that had washed over her when he appeared, drinks in hand, and settled down beside her.  Now the words seem to spill out of her, uncontrollable, as she defended Varric against his own self doubt.

“Now you are just finding reasons to be pessimistic,” she said.  She had meant it as a kindness, but the words sounded sharp even as she said them.

“Yeah, I do that,” Varric replied.

“Since when?”

“Since always, I suppose.  I have a history of looking out for the worst.  Makes it easier to run away.”

“I would not have thought so?”

“Really?  Because someone once told me that all I do is run away from my problems.”

She glanced at him, his face long as he stared down at his emptying glass, his broad shoulders rolled forward, and she felt an aching cut through her chest, compelling her to speak.

“When I met you, you weren’t running away.  If anything, you seemed to be rather stubbornly waiting for someone to come interrogate you about Hawke.”

“Yes, well, I do love being held prisoner.”

“You published a book about your association with her,” she continued.  “You were not hard to track down.  You were hardly dismissive about your role in what happened in Kirkwall.  As I recall, you more or less took full responsibility.  You and your brother, anyway.”

“It _ was _ our doing.  And again, I don’t think I can take much credit for not running away when I was being held captive by the Chantry,” Varric replied.

“You neither ran away nor gave up your friend’s location.  In fact, your steadfastness was quite impressive.  Frustrating at the time, I admit, but impressive, all the same.  I have seen few others stand up to the Seekers as you did.”

“Still, held prisoner.  It’s not the most impressive example of staying put.”

“And after?”

“After what?” Varric asked.  He raised his face to meet hers, and she was instantly aware of how earnest her words had become, feeling her face flush under his gaze.

“The rift.  The Temple of Sacred Ashes.  The Inquisitor falling out of the sky.  I was there to save the Divine, and whoever else might have survived.  Solas was fascinated by the rift.  Even the Inquisitor needed to stay and fight, to prove her innocence.  Why did you?”

He shrugged, his expression turning dark.  “People were in trouble.  The sky was on fire.  I wasn’t going to just turn around and leave.”

“And after that?  After the rift over the Temple was closed?  After the Inquisition began?  You had no stake in the Chantry, or the Inquisition, or even the mages’ rebellion.”

“The Templars were using red lyrium.  Red lyrium is only in the world because of Bartrand and me.”

“You could have just agreed to help the Inquisition track the red lyrium.  You could have even agreed only to accompany the Inquisitor on raids against the Red Templars.  Red lyrium doesn’t explain why you helped us track down the Wardens, or stop an assassination at the Winter Palace, or why you were with us in Arbor Wilds.”

“The world might be ending!  I’m not going to stand idly by and watch it burn!  If nothing else, all my stuff is here!”

He was nearly towering over her now, despite the difference in their height, his shoulders thrown back and his chest thrown out, his words as defiant as they were clever.

“My point, Varric, is that at no point have you run away.  I have been beside you since Kirkwall, and no stage have you run.  At no stage have you done anything but committed yourself, risked your life, for a cause that you claim to have no stake in beyond just not wanting to see the world destroyed.  That hardly strikes me as someone who runs away from their problems.”

“I suppose you’re right,” he admitted.  “You are, after all, the Seeker of Truth.”

A smile danced in the corners of his lips, not the smirk she had come to expect, but something warm and comforting.  She felt it echoed in her own expression, dropping her gaze to her hands to try to mask it.  Her fingers traced the lines of condensation across the edge of the glass, feeling the drops of cold roll across her fingertips and down her knuckles.  Finally, she broke the silence between them, saying, “May I ask - who was it that told you that?  That you were one to always run from your problems?”

“Bianca.  The night the merchant guild’s injunction came down.  ‘There goes Varric Tethras, running away from his feelings again.’  That was the last thing she said to me that night.”

Cassandra scoffed, her eyes still locked on her glass.  “Then I consider this nothing more than another reason to think that she is an utter fool,” she muttered.

She could sense Varric stirring beside her, and instantly regretted that the words had escaped her lips.  She expected him to get to his feet, perhaps offer a few biting remarks that she would be so presumptuous as to criticize the woman he loved, or simply storm off, leave her alone to contemplate her own stupidity.

Instead, she froze as he gently brushed his hand across her cheek, lifting her chin to press his lips to hers.  She could feel the flush of heat radiating off of him, the gentleness of the kiss cut only by the bristle of his stubbled skin pressed against her own.  His fingers were thick and strong as they cradled her face, his fingertips twisting lightly into the edge of her hair.

The kiss only lasted a moment - Varric pulled away slightly, and Cassandra opened her eyes to meet his.  There was no smirk, no mask - instead, his eyes seem to sink into her with such pure vulnerability that it made the aching in her chest feel as though it would rip her in two.  She longed for his eloquence, or any gift with language at all, so that she could find the words to express how important he had become to her, to swear to him that she would never do anything to defile the beautiful eagerness in his face, but all she could manage was to put aside her glass and bruskly pull him against her, feeling his other arm wrap around her waist, his fingertips digging ever so slightly into her hips as she awkwardly mashed her face into his.  The gentleness of his lips and his tongue guided her own, even as she body began to quiver against the frantic beating of her heart.

“So here’s where you two got to.”

The Inquisitor’s voice was like the sudden twang of a bowstring or the crash of an unseen sword, setting Cassandra’s hair on edge and her body into high alert.  She probably would have leapt to her feet, but Varric’s arm was still wrapped across her waist, the weight of it comforting.

“I’m sorry to interrupt, but we need your input.  Meeting in the war room.”

They nodded, getting to their feet and heading back inside.  She couldn’t quite bring herself to meet Varric’s gaze, but she felt herself lingering beside him even as they started off across the camp and through the Great Hall, even just the warmth from his body seeming to ground her as they joined the others in the war room, waiting for the Inquisitor to speak.


	6. Because they had survived

The whole of Skyhold echoed with sound - not the clash of swords in the training yard or the clack of hooves against stable floors to which she’d become accustomed, but the raucous sounds that only true joy inspire - the pealing of bells, the chipper ring of horns and trumpets, and the strangely acacophonic sound of a dozen songs sung on top of one another - from one corner, the Chant, from another, a bawdy sea shanty, and from yet another, and ancient, local rhyme, all blending together in an euphoric chorus unlike anything Cassandra had heard before.

They had won.  They had survived.  She had survived.  Somehow, Cassandra had never considered the world beyond, a life after Corypheus.  

The battle had not been easy, but ultimately, the Inquisitor’s plan had worked.  They divided their forces, Cassandra leading their companions against Corypheus’ dragon, as the Inquisitor, Cullen, Morrigan, and Solas hung back, waiting to strike against the darkspan lord himself.  Cassandra had been at the foot of the great, black beast when it fell, felt the heat soaking through her shield as it shattered into soot and ash, and with each arrow that zipped past her, finding each weak spot in the monster’s hide of glittering scales, she had felt Varric beside her, defending her every step.  And as the creature screamed and sizzled to its final demise, she couldn’t help but raise her head and track his short, thick figure, half hidden behind a line of stones, Bianca in hand.  Even as a great bolt of green energy broke across the sky once more, finding its partner in the Inquisitor’s palm, their eyes were set on each other.  In that moment, she had felt the same pure, unbroken certainty as when she first heard the Chant of Light and when she had first stepped foot into the Seekers’ headquarters; she had known that her life was with him.

And yet, in the time it had taken to cross back to Skyhold, all of her certainty had vanished, and she was left alone with her doubts and denials.   _ What about the Inquisition?  The Chantry?  The Seekers?  The role of Divine was still to be filled; there was still much to be done to reunite the wayward Circles and the defiant Templars.  And there were many who still considered relations between races … unseemly. _

_ Relations _ .  Even the thought made her shudder.  She had lived her entire life in the service of a lord - first in her uncle’s court, and then in service to the Divine.  She knew little of courting, and nothing of love.   _ What could she offer a man who had literally written books on the subject? _  She glanced down at the finery she wore - the red dress uniform of the Orlesian nobility, the fine silk sashes bearing the Chantry and Inquisition heralds.  Even they felt like a lie, a costume she didn’t deserve to wear.  Her own chests contained nothing but armor and furs.  It had been years since she’d owned even a chantry dress, let alone anything more … provocative.  

“So this is where you’ve been hiding!”

The Inquisitor’s words cracked through the uproarious noise like a brisk, winter wind.  Cassandra had been resting against the railing of one of the high balconies in the Great Hall, looking out across the night, full of lights even as far as the edge of their mountain sanctuary.  The Inquisitor came and stood beside her, silently taking in the view.

“A lot to take in, isn’t it?” she said finally.

Cassandra sighed.  “Indeed.”

“I hadn’t gotten a chance to say yet, but thank you,” the Inquisitor continued.

Cassandra bowed her head.  “Of course.  It was your plan - I merely followed.”

The Inquisitor laughed, her cheeks flushed, and Cassandra noticed for the first time the tankard in her hands.  “You did so much more than that, Cassandra,” she said, throwing her arm over Cassandra’s shoulders and gently leading them back inside.  From the balcony, they could see the entire Great Hall, everyone engulfed in a huge party.

The Inquisitor continued, “You know this is as much because of you as it is me.  More so, really - you were the one who called the Inquisition.  You were the one who trusted me after I fell out of the Rift.  You made me the Inquisitor!”

“The Maker made you the Inquisitor,” Cassandra corrected.

The Inquisitor just laughed again.  “Maybe.  But there are a lot of people in this world who would have tried to take advantage of that.  I still don’t know if I’m really the Herald of Andraste or if the Maker sent me here to be the Inquisitor, but I do believe He sent me to you.  You’re the only person who could have brought us all together after the Conclave was destroyed.”

“You know, it’s funny,” Cassandra replied, “I would have said the same thing about you,  _ Herald _ .”

The Inquisitor just rolled her eyes and laughed again at how Cassandra emphasized the last word.  “Well, I just wanted to say, thank you.  You’ve become one of my closest friends, Cassandra.  I couldn’t have done this without you.”

Before Cassandra could respond, she had wrapped her in a warm embrace.  Cassandra signed again, wrapping her arms around the smaller woman, pressing her close.  

“Thank you,” Cassandra replied, “You are my friend, as well.”

“So, as your friend,” the Inquisitor said, leaning back against the wall and finishing her drink, “What are your plans?”

“I am not sure.  It seems there is still so much to be done - I am not sure what to do next.”

“You told me once that you wanted to reform the Seekers, to restore the Order from what the Red Templars did to it.”

“And I still do.  But the Chantry still needs leadership, and there’s still the Circles to reform.”

“You’re talking about being the next Divine?”

Cassandra slowly met her gaze, finding it hard to speak.  “It is the greatest honor.  And there is so much to be done.”

“But what do you want?”

“I want…”

Her words failed her.  “I would be honored to be the Divine.  With Corypheus defeated, I would expect that the Chantry would accept whomever the Inquisition recommended.”

“So you’re asking me to nominate you?’ the Inquisitor asked, her tone suddenly turning serious.

“I …”

“Not tonight,” the Inquisitor cut her off.  “There is still a lot to do, but not tonight.  Tonight, let’s just be happy for what we’ve done.”

The Inquisitor threw her arm over Cassandra’s shoulders again, and the broader figure nodded, allowing herself to be lead down the stairs and back into the revelry.  

Cullen met them on the edge of the dance floor, his eyes instantly meeting the Inquisitor’s.  “Sorry to interrupt, but the Inquisitor owes me a dance.”

“Do I?” she replied with a smirk.

“Well, far be it from me to interfere,” Cassandra replied, slipping out from under the Inquisitors arm and dropping her hand into Cullen’s waiting one in one smooth motion.

“I’ll be back,” the Inquisitor whispered as Cullen pulled her forward, “So no moping!”

Cassandra felt a small smile spread across her face as the pair disappeared into the swirl of dancers.  She edged along the room, taking the tankard of ale that was offered her and eventually settling on the far side of the dance floor, beside the Hall’s massive fireplace.  It filled the air with the scent of rosewood and cedar, and for a moment, Cassandra was back in her parents’ home, awaiting the Winter Solstice celebration.

“I’m not saying it wouldn’t make a good book.  I’m saying I don’t want to think about that thing for a while.”

The deep boom of Varric’s voice rang out clearly across the Hall.  He and Dorian were crossing from the bar, each carrying a tankard.  The sound of his voice drew Cassandra’s attention, and their eyes met across the Hall, and suddenly, she felt as though she’d turned to stone, frozen in place and icy cold despite the fire.  Varric’s expression seemed to freeze, as well.  

Dorian was still addressing whatever they had been discussing, but glancing at his companion, his expression turned mischievous, and he led them back across the hall to the fireplace.

“Lady Seeker!” he said brightly, throwing her arms around her.  She completely failed to return his embrace, managing only to lean her chin into his shoulder.  “And how do you fare on this most wondrous of nights?”

Dorian’s ridiculous nature helped to soften Cassandra’s mood into annoyance.  “I’m fine, Dorian.  I take it you’ve been sampling the ale?”

“Actually, I prefer brandy.  But why not?  If you haven’t heard - the war is over!  We’ve won!”

“Dorian was just trying to persuade me that I should write my next book about Corypheus,” Varric added, his gaze hovering just short of Cassandra’s eyes.  

“Certainly it’s a tale of valor and adventure.  And yet, you resist!”

“I told you, the last thing I want to do right now is think about Corypheus or that dragon of his.  Or you, or any of the rest of these miscreants.”

“Is that so?!” Dorian replied in mock horror.  “Well, then,  _ this _ miscreant is off to find more hospitable company. Lady Pentaghast?”

“I’m alright,” Cassandra said, smiling.  The smirk had returned to Varric’s face.

Dorian cast one more mischievous glance between them before wandering back into the crowd.  Cassandra sunk into one of the massive, high-backed chairs beside the fireplace, Varric standing just beside her.

“So, then, what do you plan to do now?” she asked.

“Well, I suppose eventually I should get back to Kirkwall.  Check on my network of spies.”

“You have a network of spies?”

“Well, it’s less of a network since the city blew up.  More just one city captain who’s fond of gossip.  But she’s been doing fine without me this whole time.  I’m not seeing it as a huge urgency.  How about you?”

“I am not sure,” Cassandra said.  Her gaze had settled on Varric’s wrist, hanging just inches from her fingertips.  “There’s still the Order of the Seekers to rebuild, the Chantry still needs a Divine, and something needs to be done to help control mages and magic…”

“None of that really answers the question, Cassandra.”

Varric turned, and Cassandra could feel his gaze on her.  “What do  _ you  _ want to do now?”

For a moment, it felt like Cassandra’s head would split open from the pressure of all of the voices that screamed out in response, like a cleaver across her skull.  Part of her was screaming out to tell the Varric the truth; part of her screamed about duty and obligations, and part screamed out in pure fear and panic.  But, finally, she raised her gaze to meet his, and the screaming voices disappeared into the cacophony of celebration all around them.

“I would like to be with you,” she said slowly, “But I have no idea what that would really mean, and I am very much afraid that I will be terrible at it.”

Varric’s expression warmed, his smirk shifting into something full of joy and affection.  “Come on, Seeker, when have you ever been bad at anything?”

“Does that mean that you would be … amenable, to the same?” she said slowly, inching her fingers forward to brush against his wrist.

“Amenable,” he repeated with a laugh.  Taking her hand, he pressed it to his lips, never breaking his gaze with her, leaving her entire body tingling with excitement, “Yes, I am definitely amenable to that.  I am, in fact, at your disposal, Lady Pentaghast.” 

“Well, then, Master Tethras,” she said, lifting herself to her feet and slipping her hand in his, “Perhaps we could go continue this conversation someplace more private.”

Varric led them past the revelers and up the stone steps to the private chambers, wearing the proudest smirk Cassandra had ever seen on his face.

**Author's Note:**

> Again, I was mostly too lazy to research all of the original game dialogue, so a lot of it is from memory.


End file.
